For every generation, a few horrible events remain forever in memories. Our grandparents remember Pearl Harbor. Our parents know exactly what they were doing when Kennedy was shot and when the Challenger exploded. Most of us will always remember when we heard about Sept. 11 (9th grade Spanish class) and maybe when the war in Iraq started (hotel room in New Mexico on a spring break ski trip) or Katrina (packing before moving to Tufts for the first time).
For me, however, one day is permanently engraved in my mind above all of these. That day was 12 years ago today, April 19, 1995. With everything that has happened since then, you probably don't have a strong connection with the Oklahoma City bombing, but as someone that grew up in Oklahoma City, I will never forget.
On April 19, 1995, I went to school at 8:00 a.m. like every other day, excited for our field trip. Though my school was about 14 miles from downtown, at 9:02 a.m., sitting in Mrs. Bradford's second grade classroom, we heard a loud noise and the ceiling shook slightly. Everything stopped while a bunch of eight-year-olds got excited about the crazy situation. We decided that an air conditioner on the roof must have broken and caused the ruckus.
That day we were supposed to go on our annual fieldtrip to the Civic Center downtown to hear the Oklahoma City Philharmonic play. Then, during music class Mr. Matthews, our principal, told us the trip had been canceled because of a "small explosion" downtown.
He gave us the feeling that there had been some sort of electrical explosion near the Civic Center so they canceled the concert. No one had any idea it was related to the noise we had heard. Soon after, parents, including my father, started taking kids out of school for the day.
When my dad arrived, I couldn't understand why I had to leave school. He explained to me that someone had blown up a big building downtown. When we got home and turned on the news I saw the most horrible sight of my life.
The entire front of a big building downtown was gone and there was a huge crater going through most of the building. Hundreds of police, firemen, EMTs and anyone else willing to help were running around frantically trying to dig people out.
The daycare on the first floor had been completely destroyed and there were firemen pulling out the surviving children, crying as they gingerly carried dead babies. Dogs were crawling through the rubble searching for anything that moved. In all, 168 people died, but a million people were deeply affected.
We learned later that domestic terrorists had bombed the Murrah Federal Building in response to the government's handling of the standoff between federal agents and the Branch Davidian cult in Waco, Texas. It was the most devastating act of terrorism on American soil ever (until Sept. 11). Several days later, while rescue crews were still searching for survivors, a large memorial service was held. President Clinton, my Rabbi and many other local clergy spoke of the disaster which we had all witnessed and of the help we received from all over the world.
I don't know a single person living in Oklahoma who did not watch that memorial service. At the same time, a towering wall of stuffed animals, notes of hope and prayer, flowers and American flags was growing around the destroyed building.
Even though this happened 12 years ago, I still vividly remember the details and am very saddened that something like this could take place. Recently the date April 19 has been in the Daily several times in the context of a protest of the war in Iraq. Though I support that idea, the first thing that popped into my mind when I read about it was what that date means to me.
As one of a handful of Oklahomans at Tufts (and by handful I mean there's literally five of us, as far as I know), I realize that not many people will feel the date so deeply or even remember what happened, but I feel confident saying that your community, no matter where it is, sent either rescuers, stuff for the wall, or both.
In Oklahoma there will be a Memorial Marathon and a ceremony at the National Memorial Monument. I don't expect that here, but my goal is that while you read this you will first take a minute to remember the 168 who died, their families and all the people this affected. And years later, I still want to thank all the rescuers who came from all over the country and beyond to help us in our time of need, 12 years ago.
Philip Marsel is a sophomore majoring in mathematics.
